


i know that i knew you

by nd_mindoir



Series: [brainstorm collection] a thousand cuts upon the soul [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone thought she died for good, F/F, First meeting after Sylvanas died, Psychological Trauma, Slice of Life, Sylvanas doesn't remember, This is no complete story, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, only brainstorming, sylvaina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nd_mindoir/pseuds/nd_mindoir
Summary: For the first time since freeing her people the mysterious Banshee Queen sets foot into the public as Horde forces arrive at Dalaran. And Jaina is not quite prepared to find out just who the forsaken leader is.





	i know that i knew you

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is a draft, simple brainstorming done by a friend and me. It is not proof-read in any way!
> 
> We think about writing a Sylvaina story and are gathering ideas that might or might not make it into the story later if we ever decide to write it. The rough outline is that Jaina and Sylvanas knew each other before WC3. Jaina thought her dead until WotLK and Sylvanas doesn't truly remember their relationship. The story would begin in WotLK and more or less follow canon from there on.

Dalaran, Northrend

The streets are busy, more so than usual. Ever since the Kirin Tor have magically lifted the city and brought it to the heart of Northrend, it has been filled with people of all heritages, sizes, and professions. Usually, only humans, elves and the occasional gnome would be seen wandering around the streets, all of them either mages studying here or simple civilians.

But now, with Dalaran declared to be the very forefront of the upcoming war campaign against the Lich King and his scourge, the city is filled to the brim with warriors of all races. Luckily, Jaina isn’t as superstitious and biased about the Horde as most people who were part of the Great Alliance, but still, it is a weird feeling to stand on a balcony in the violet citadel and gaze down at a orc bickering lively with a draenei paladin as they compare the quality of their weaponry. She only hopes this fragile truce will last for once. She is tired of having to appeal to the Alliance for giving Thrall’s Horde a chance. All they see are the green warmongers from the invasion years ago, they are too stubborn to accept that those orcs came with the purpose of war while Thrall only wishes his people safe, same as them.

“It is weird”, a voice from behind interrupts the traveling thoughts of the young mage. “So long we’ve isolated ourselves from everyone and now we’ve invited the Horde.”

Jaina turns her head to smile at her friend and former mentor. She hasn’t seen Modera in a long time, ever since she left Dalaran for Kalimdor she hasn’t really returned here. With everyone she once held dear gone, the former kingdom of Lordaeron holds nothing but pain for her.

“It’s a step in the right direction, and you know it.”

“You have always been too good natured.”

Jaina merely shrugs and turns her attention back to the crowd gathering around the draenei and orc. The two are now loudly arguing with each other, the more or less friendly banter gone from their features.

“War is in their blood”, Modera observes from the side.

“It is”, she agrees, but still shakes her head. “Because they haven’t known it any other way and nobody grants them any doubt.”

“You know them better, then?”

Jaina shrugs as a massive tauren pushes himself through the crowd of observers and drags the orc back towards Sunreaver’s Sanctuary. By his huffing and grumbling it’s clear this isn’t the first time the man has to prevent his friend from starting a fist-fight in the streets.

“I know enough of them to know they can be just as kind as any human, given the chance.”

Modera merely grunts in acknowledgment and then changes the subject, realizing she has hit a wall with this line of thought.

“Have you heard who they have sent as their delegates?”

“I know the orcs Varok Saurfang and Garrosh Hellscream are to lead most of their forces.”

She has never met those two orcs, but she heard about them from Thrall a long time ago. He called Varok a strong leader and Garrosh the son of one of the most honorable men he has ever met. However much that might mean coming from a time where war was a constant everywhere.

“And I’m sure that Thrall and his faction leaders will make an appearance sooner or later.”

“No, I mean who they have sent to advise in tactic councils and offer some kind of inside knowledge. She’s supposed to arrive today; the banshee queen.”

“Ah”, is all she provides.

She doesn’t know much of the woman other than the title. The horde has been secretive about her like nothing else. Not even Thrall has told her anything about the woman other than she is, like the rest of the forsaken, undead and former slave to the scourge. She knows some of the stories, of course, that she was the first to break the Lich King’s hold and freed many of the undead who now follow her into revenge. And she knows how Lordaeron and everyone else have banished them from returning to their loved ones.

Jaina never understood this. She would give everything to see the people she has lost just one more time. And all those who had the chance threw it away like it didn’t matter. Like **they** didn’t matter. She understands the fear, of course, the reluctance of trusting former scourge members, but surely, after so many years, it should be clear that they are free of that dreadful influence.

“Well, I guess she has more reason to come here than any of us. While we avenge the deaths of our friends and families, she has the chance to avenge her own.”

She smiles sadly at Modera and the older mage seems to understand. She never knew who the quel’dorei was so many years ago, but she knew she existed, and that she fell defending her homeland against the scourge. Also, it is no secret to anyone in Dalaran that she and Arthas had been close.

“Jaina, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright”, the younger woman assures her. “We’ve all lost people to the scourge. It’s what binds us together in this war, Alliance and Horde, and especially the forsaken.”

With that, she leaves the balcony and descends down the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I am curious about this banshee queen”, Jaina shrugs and heads into the busy street.

She dodges the massive orcs and tauren hauling crates through the city, passes laughing elves and humans and almost trips on a small gnome whom she grants an apologetic smile. She only stops when she’s near the entrance to Sunreaver’s Sanctuary with an eye closely kept on the tower that leads to Krasus’ Landing.

She waits long, and eventually even has a gaggle of former students circled around her. They spotted her waiting and, after not having seen her for years, are eager to get back in touch. But then the background noise of chatting people grows quiet and when Jaina looks up from the group, she sees why.

Four armed men leave Krasus’ Landing, large shields on their left arms and their right hands rest on the pummels of swords. The heavy armor they wear is painted in a deep crimson red and the crest on their plates is an array of symbols she hasn’t seen before; a white mask crying black tears and arrows on a stylized purple raven. But the strangest thing about these guards are their eyes; glowing in a sickly yellow color.

The forsaken, Jaina realizes. These four men are undead, most likely former citizens of the old Lordaeron Kingdom, before the Lich King obliterated it. She might even have known them when they were alive.

They stand in front of the tower in utter silence, stock still, not even heaving chests as they take breaths, if they take breaths at all. Do undead need to breathe? She doesn’t know, never thought about it. They wait for something or someone, possibly their queen. Are these soldiers her entourage? A royal guard?

She hears voices arguing from afar, depicts the language as the curled tongue of Thalassian. She hasn’t heard the words spoken in a long time, Vereesa rarely changed into her mother tongue whenever Jaina was around. But now, as three more people emerge from the tower, Jaina stares at former quel’dorei.

One of them she recognizes, a tall man with long blonde hair and a goatee. One of his eyes is clearly blind and surrounded by ugly scar tissue, the other glows in a bright green. Lor’Themar. She hasn’t seen him since before the third war.

Next to him stand two elven women armed with bows and a single sword, both of them in dark clothes with hoods and cloths drawn up to cover most of their heads and faces, but their eyes are not the silver blue of quel’dorei or the fel green of sin’dorei. They are red with the faintest orange tint to them, like a setting sun. She has never seen elves with an eye color like that, or sickly grey skin for that matter. Are they undead, too? Could that be? Has Arthas risen not only the humans of Lordaeron, but the people of Quel’thalas, too? It shouldn’t surprise her. And if so, could that mean…

She swiftly cuts her own hopeful thoughts off as Lor’themar’s single eye finds Jaina in the crowd. He recognizes her as well, but he doesn’t look happy about it, not at all. There’s an anger she has never seen in him, tinted by sadness and regret. And she has no real time to wonder about the why, before he vanishes into the Sanctuary, leaving the two undead elves behind.

And then, with the next figure descending from the stairs, everything around her ceases to exist. The guards and two elven women stand to attention as their queen exists the tower and walks past them. The guards fall into step behind her, while the elves flank her on either side.

Deep crimson eyes, darker than those of the others, scan the crowd as the tall woman strides through the street, each step is taken with purpose, like a cat stalking her prey. The heavy purple cloak hangs from her shoulders, the design of her armor is decidedly of elven heritage, but the color and markings show her loyalty to the forsaken. Little skulls adorn her shoulder paldrons and belt. A long bow made of bone is slung across her back and the fledging of arrows peak out from behind her shoulder. She wears a hood to cover dead hair. The long ears are unadorned as their tips bob with each step and the skin is almost purple with a greyish tint. Black lines run from her eyes down her face like tears burnt into the skin.

The banshee queen looks like nothing Jaina has ever seen, yet the facial features are something she could never forget. She has trailed her fingers across those high cheekbones, kissed the soft lips, stared into eyes she remembers as being a pale grayish blue.

“Impossible”, Jaina whispers to herself, everyone around her forgotten.

The banshee queen, leader of the forsaken, former slave to the Lich King and the scourge is Sylvanas Windrunner. On instinct she moves her hand up to her neck and clutches her necklace. Her Kul Tiran anchor and Thalassian arrow dig into her palm

And then, as if they are two magnets pulling closer, the crimson gaze finds her, and what Jaina sees makes her blood run cold. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing. Cold steel lacking any warmth. An empty stare that speaks volumes in on itself.

Jaina never thought much about the forsaken or if they remember their former lives, and she’d never thought she would want to know. Everything in her tells her to run towards the former quel’dorei and become a sobbing mess while crushing her in a hug, but she can’t move. Her legs won’t obey her commands.

The eyes are still on her, and only now Jaina realizes that the queen has stopped in the middle of the street, her entourage looking at her strangely.

“Dark Lady?”, one of the elves carefully asks.

She remembers, Jaina thinks to herself. It’s impossible to say how much but she remembers **something** or she wouldn’t still be staring at her.

As if brushing all thoughts aside Sylvanas shakes her head, averts her eyes, and turns toward the Sanctuary. Even when the last of her guard has vanished out of sight, the mage is still in the streets staring after the group.

.oOo.

“We cannot let you inside, I am sorry.”

He is not sorry. That much is clear to Jaina. The sin’dorei is smug if nothing else about denying her access.

“I am an archmage of the Kirin Tor”, Jaina repeats herself not for the first time. “And I demand to be let into the Sanctuary.”

“The Sanctuary is currently withheld for the Horde.”

“The Kirin Tor have access to everywhere in Dalaran. Now let me through.”

“No.”

Jaina closes her eyes and takes a deep calming breath. She didn’t have anybody raise her temper like this in years.

“Let her pass”, a new voice suddenly says.

The mage opens her eyes and stares at the face of Lor’themar. A sight that doesn’t help with her current flood of angry emotions in the slightest.

“Yes, Lord-Regent”, the sin’dorei guard bows deeply and moves to the side.

“Bal’a dash, Lady Proudmoore”, Lor’themar greets her.

His voice is clipped, the face stoic and unyielding. She was never good at reading emotions on an elven face, and now, as he deliberately keeps them out of all his body movements as well, she cannot possibly say what his intentions are.

“Lor’themar Theron”, she answers, trying to keep her voice just as neutral, but a flair of anger flickers around the edges. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed.”

He turns around and steps into the Sanctuary, expecting her to follow without a word and so she does. As soon as the door has closed behind them, she lets her anger flow free.

“Did you know this whole time?”, she growls at him.

He lowers his eye for a few seconds and strokes his long beard. “When I wrote you the letter, I thought her dead”, he begins to explain. “Only when she had us join the Horde did I learn what truly happened.”

“And you never thought to tell me? You never, not even once, thought it would be nice for me to know that she’s alive? Or Vereesa? Arator?”

He shakes his head as he gazes back at her, his features have softened into a sad gaze. Full of compassion, pity even.

“She’s **not** alive, Jaina.”

“I don’t care if her eyes glow blue or red, Lor’themar.”

“That’s not- She’s not”, he sighs as he tries to figure out how to express his thoughts. “She’s not the Sylvanas you remember. Believe me, I’ve known her for centuries. She is not the woman you loved.”

Jaina shakes her head and takes a step back from him. Tears of anger and frustration well up in her eyes. She took so long to mourn everything that happened. Arthas’ betrayal and Sylvanas’ death cut deep and she was only able to overshadow them by pouring everything of herself into the founding of Theramore and effectively working herself into forgetting. She thought she finally found some rest, only to have Arthas return as the Lich King to bring the scourge across all Azeroth. And now Sylvanas is back as well. Will her past ever let her be in peace?

“I want to speak with her”, she finally declares.

It’s the reason she wanted to enter the Sanctuary in the first place, and Lor’themar probably knows it. Who else would she want to visit here? She doesn’t know any of the Horde delegates after all.

“I do not think that is wise.”

“Lor’themar”, she pushes. “I don’t need your permission or your acceptance. But I will ask you as an old friend to bring me to her instead of fighting my way through your guards.”

“I warned you”, he finally says and gestures for her to follow him. “What you do with this is up to you.”

“Thank you.”

They walk out of his office and into the hallway where they pass a couple of heavy doors. It’s not hard to guess behind which door the banshee queen resides, as two of those undead guards stand next to it. Lor’themar bows to her and leaves her alone in front of unmoving, glowing eyes.

“I would ask an audience with your queen.”

“The dark lady is busy.”

Jaina shrinks to the side, the answer didn’t come from either of the guards but from behind. She turns around and stares into a new set of glowing eyes. The grey face is impassive as the undead elf stares at the human. The armor is similar to Sylvanas’ distinctively elven in everything but the color. The rangers of quel’thalas used to wear it.

Was she one of her rangers? A soldier who followed her general into the thick of war only to be resurrected into servitude of the scourge to become one of its horrors alongside her?

“I thought as much”, she finally manages to find her voice. “But this cannot wait.”

An elegant grey eyebrow is raised into the air as a long ear twitches, having heard something too quiet for a human to pick up.

“Very well. Who am I to announce?”

“Jaina Proudmoore”, she breathes in relief, then adds in an afterthought, “Archmage of the Kirin Tor.”

The former ranger nods and vanishes behind the door. Jaina can hear a bit of muffled Thalassian through the wood and shortly after the door opens once more and the ranger holds it to let Jaina pass and closes it.

The sight that greets her takes Jaina’s breath right out of her lungs. She’s alone in the room with Sylvanas, the woman she called the love of her life a decade ago, the proud elven general who died protecting her people.

She stands tall, hands clasped behind her back and stares out of a large window into the city of Dalaran. She has her hood down and the long pale hair flows freely down the shoulders.

_This is wrong_, is the first thing that comes to Jaina’s mind. The hair used to be a bright platin blonde. The long ears had golden rings in them, few soft feathers dangling from them.

The bow and quiver she was armed with before now rest comfortably against the desk, only the sword still rests at her hip, the steel of its sheath black as night.

“What can I do for you, Lady Proudmoore?”

The voice sends a shudder down her spine. If she had any doubts before, they’re gone now. This voice is Sylvanas, it is surrounded by an ethereal echo bouncing of the walls and grinding on her bones, but it is still Sylvanas.

“I-”, she trails off immediately.

She didn’t really think about what to say, what to talk about. A part of her hoped that she wouldn’t have to say anything at all, that Sylvanas would simply remember her and words would be unnecessary, but it seems these wishes were futile.

“I think I know why you’re here.”

Jaina’s eyes widen when Sylvanas finally turns around and the crimson orbs that once held so much love observe her every move in a calculating manner. How can such a warm color be so cold?

“You know me, don’t you?”

_She remembers something, at least, but clearly not enough_, Jaina thinks bitterly. She keeps quiet for now, sensing Sylvanas may not be done with whatever she wishes to say. And quite honestly, she doesn’t know how to answer either way.

“From before. I know that I knew you. I can… feel it, for lack of a better word. But I don’t know who you are. Who you were to me. If we were friends or foes.”

“Yes”, Jaina breathes after a couple of silent seconds. “I knew you… before.”

Bravely, or maybe foolishly, Jaina takes a step forward. Sylvanas tenses, her shoulders squared and back even straighter than before, but Jaina doesn’t stop until she’s close enough to reach out. She raises her hand to Sylvanas’ cheek, red eyes follow the movement bewildered, but as soon as Jaina’s fingertips brush against the skin she jerks her hand back. She used to be so warm, the elven skin naturally a few degrees warmer than that of a human. But now it is cold, colder than any living being should be. Cold like a corpse.

When she sees Sylvanas’ eyes narrow darkly in response, Jaina takes a brave breath and moves her hand forward again. Now that she knows what to expect, she ignores the shudder that runs down her spine and cups the cheek of the woman before her, a thumb carefully brushing against the black streaks below her eyes. The skin is surprisingly soft and smooth despite its temperature, but the tears feel like burn marks. Then she moves even closer and pulls the undead elf into a tight hug, her face pressed into the nape of her neck. She used to smell of tulips, trees and arcane. Now it’s as if the tulips had no water for too long, the trees have shed their leaves and the arcane has turned dark; it’s still her but different. Sylvanas doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even have a pulse Jaina can feel through the skin. But there is energy thrumming in the muscles, dark and twisted. Necromancy, she guesses. The very thing that keeps her alive... -ish.

“I thought you died”, she whispers.

“I did.”

Jaina jerks back immediately and shakes her head in disbelief at the words. They are spoken so nonchalantly, so uncaring, it is a stab into her heart. Narrowed crimson eyes drop and suddenly cold fingers are close to Jaina’s throat. For a second she fears for her life with no idea what will happen, where Sylvanas’ state of mind is at. But the cool fingers barely touch her skin and instead slightly tug at her necklace.

“This is Thalassian”, she whispers.

“It was a gift.”

“From me”, it isn’t a question but a realization.

Something flashes in her eyes, a feeling Jaina can’t quite decipher, maybe a memory. All of the sudden, Sylvanas drops the pendant back on her neck and steps out of her touch. She clears her throat and her voice becomes unyielding steel.

“Was there anything else, Lady Proudmoore?”

“Sylvanas-”, Jaina tries but is immediately cut off.

“If not, I suggest you leave.”

Whatever understanding was between them a minute ago, it now lies shattered to their feet. Sylvanas turns back around and resumes to staring out of the window, basically dismissing Jaina’s very presence, and the mage can do nothing but look at her helplessly. Her vision blurs slightly as she nods, trying to understand everything that just happened.

“I have a room in the citadel”, Jaina whispers. “Should you ever wish to talk.”

She doesn’t receive an answer, not even a single muscle twitches, and finally decides that leaving is the best option, no matter how much it hurts. She turns to the door, leaves the office, and ignores how the eyes of the former ranger-general follow her out of the Sanctuary through the large glass windows.

**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything on [tumblr](https://nd-mindoir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
